


lost in you

by LoversAntiquities



Series: Codas [28]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, M/M, Post-Episode: s13e23 Let the Good Times Roll
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 17:22:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14698863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: The moment Sam and Jack walk through the front door, battered but alive, Castiel’s heart sinks.





	lost in you

The moment Sam and Jack walk through the front door, battered but alive, Castiel’s heart sinks. Further, deeper into his chest, the further they both descend into the foyer, Jack bloodied with a broken nose, and Sam, both relieved and devastated all the same. But Dean is nowhere to be found; Castiel doesn't have the heart any longer to ask where he is, or if he’s even alive. His lips still thrum from hours ago, stained with desperation; Castiel wants nothing but to tear at his eyes, so he can forget the entire incident—so he can forget Dean’s face when that one word came.

Years after denials, years after the worst of the apocalypse had passed—and now, Dean threw himself willingly onto the fire once again, to save his family. And Castiel couldn’t save _him_ , no matter how many promises Castiel made, no matter how hard he begged. That, out of everything, hurts most of all.

As the daylight feeds into night, life goes on. The refugees trickle off to their bedrooms, and Castiel, Sam and Jack debrief with Mary and Bobby; Castiel fixes Jack’s nose, and Sam recounts the battle with all the enthusiasm he can muster given the situation, glowing over the death of his torturer. All the while, Castiel keeps watch on the door, waiting for the inevitable return that doesn’t come. The longer he waits, the more convinced he is that Dean died along the way, and everyone refuses to tell him. He’s still there, though—Castiel can feel him, just barely, a steady thrum in the fabric of the universe. Previously a beacon, but now, extinguished and wilting, pleading for rescue. But from where, Castiel knows not.

The bunker sits still at midnight. Castiel packs a bag and leaves the garage on the back of a Chief Blackhawk, and leaves under the cover of darkness. For a long while, Castiel drives the barren backroads of the plains and the Rockies, winding his way along cliffs and through sleepy towns that rarely see tourists, let alone wandering souls. Where he plans to head, he has no idea, but for now, all he can do is drive and feel the wind in his face, sunglasses blocking out the worst of it. He travels slower down the snowy passes as he descends; he speeds up when night falls and no one can bother to chase after him.

No headlights, no destination. Nothing but the open road and the single thread of Dean’s call in the back of his mind, pleading for him without words, without a voice.

Rain begins to fall the closer Castiel gets to Oregon, soaking the road and through his clothes. He pulls off on Route 131 and heads south, far enough away from civilization where houses are scarce. Firs to his left and rocks to the right, Castiel briefly watches the sunlight fade off of the Pacific before pulling off into the grass, the engine whining long after he cuts it off. Two days of driving with few stops aside from gas and sleeping behind a motel—Castiel has experienced worse.

He walks for a mile or so, pushing the bike alongside him, until he finds a cabin facing the water; no lights illuminate the exterior, and the numbers have worn off of the mailbox, buried somewhere beneath the post. Castiel parks behind the structure and jimmies his way in through the back door, only to be met by a face full of dust and moths and several years’ worth of disrepair. In multiple places, the floor has caved in, allowing grass to grow between the slats where the rugs can’t quite reach. No sign of furniture, though, and no mattress in the upstairs bedroom. Nothing but broken floors and scattered remnants of what used to be a home with a spectacular view, left to rot under the Oregon sky.

For once, Castiel regrets his inability to sleep. By the shattered window, Castiel watches the ocean, the moon reflecting off the surface when it breaches through the clouds. Rain falls steadily, rippling the waters, and Castiel longs to walk beneath the surface until his lungs give up and he sinks, pressure killing him before asphyxiation. Death would be kinder than living in a world where he has nothing left to give, no more energy to spend, knowing his life’s work has come to naught.

Wingbeats meet Castiel before dawn, just as the sun is beginning to make its way over the horizon, bathing the clouds deep gold. At first, he doesn’t turn, knowing full and well who’s standing behind him. Whose face he can’t bear to see, whose soul is invisible behind green eyes. “He’s still here, you know,” Michael mimes with Dean’s voice, melodic as ever. Castiel just grips the windowsill and closes his eyes. “I’ve decided to take pity on you, after listening to his story. Rifling through his… memories. This… boy has gone through more than I could’ve ever expected, yet he still pines for you.”

A laugh. Castiel shakes his head.

“For an Angel,” Michael continues. Floorboards creak under his weight. “A human, lusting for the divine. Not even a holy man, but a sinner, craving the touch of something he thought he couldn’t have.”

“Are you done?” Castiel asks, swallowing down remorse. “If you’re here to kill me, then do it.”

“Oh, no,” Michael laughs. Another step; a warm hand cradles Castiel’s shoulder, too gentle to be anyone but Dean. “I’m here to offer you salvation. Because this man’s longing isn’t one sided—I know you love him too.”

Castiel turns his head, eyes pinched shut against Michael’s mirth. His knuckles blanche.

“So once a week, Castiel. Once a week, we’ll rendezvous, and I’ll let you see him. But for a day—and the second you try to rid me of him, then the deal’s off, and your world dies.” The hand softens. “Do we have a deal?”

All Castiel wants, all Castiel can do, is nod. Wordlessly, heart in his throat, he nods, and feels Dean’s touch tighten, nails digging in—and Castiel turns before Dean even has a chance to scream, throwing Dean into his arms before Dean collapses to the floor. Green eyes blink away tears, and Castiel wipes them away with his thumbs, not even bothering to collect his own.

“You gotta—Cas, you gotta—”

“I know,” Castiel attempts to soothe, fighting off the urge to scream. At Michael, at God, he doesn’t know. But Dean is here now, and Dean is all he needs. Even if it’s just for a day, Castiel will take it. “I know, I’m here.”

They don’t talk, for the most part. All Dean can do is sit with whatever energy he has left, and Castiel keeps him close, lets their hands touch between them. The rain continues to fall outside, pinging off the roof and soaking through the rotting ceiling, dripping into places Castiel couldn’t see in the dark. “I’m scared,” Dean admits at one point, shivering violently after the shock has faded, adrenaline beginning to wane. Only a few hours in control, and Dean can’t stand to be inside of himself; Castiel knows that feeling too well. “I can’t—I want—You gotta help me, you gotta…”

“I can’t,” Castiel whispers, muffling the words into Dean’s sweat-matted hair. He smells like fear, radiating off him in waves. “I can’t, but I’m trying, I swear. I’ll try.”

“I shouldn’t’ve”—Dean hiccups, his sobs indistinguishable from his words—“I should’ve listened to you. I should’ve known he’d…” He stops, rubs a shivering hand over his face. “Should’ve never trusted the son of a bitch. Should’ve always known.”

“It’ll be alright,” Castiel lies. Not knowing if Dean will make it out of this alive, not knowing if Michael will kill both of them on principle—all of it curdles in Castiel’s gut, sets his spine rigid out of fear. He just got Dean back; he survived Hell and Heaven and the end of the world, and just when he thought it was over, when the world was at his fingertips, when he thought he could have what he always desired… Nothing. Barely even a kiss to remember Dean by.

Looping an arm around Dean’s shoulders, he draws Dean in; Dean returns the embrace in kind, arms wrapped tight around his waist, bodies pressed tight, until the rain on their clothes is nothing more than a memory. Dean kisses him like that, sprawled out on the floor, knee between Castiel’s parted thighs, and Castiel cups his cheeks in both hands, feels just how fever-flushed Dean is against his palms. Tears drip onto Castiel’s face; this time, Castiel lets them, revels in the intimacy, because this—this is all he’ll have left. After Dean is gone, all Castiel will have is this moment to remember him by, until they return, solely seeking comfort, the affection they never attained when things were simpler. When an archangel wasn’t hiding behind Dean’s eyes.

When they could love with abandon, and linger without fear.

Michael begins to fester again as night falls, after Castiel has retired to the rocking chair on the porch and Dean is sitting between his legs, head propped up on Castiel’s knee. Castiel can tell by the way Dean tenses under his touch, carding his fingers through Dean’s hair. “Stand up,” Castiel instructs. Dean only looks at him with clouded eyes, but eventually makes his way to his feet. Roughly, Castiel takes Dean’s hands into his and signs something, something Michael can’t see and Dean can’t understand—for now, at least. “Remember this,” and Castiel repeats the motion another three times, waiting for Dean to nod in recognition. “Whenever you need me, remember this.”

Faintly, Dean nods, opens his mouth—Michael speaks instead, stealing Dean’s hands back from Castiel’s grasp. Too far away, out of Castiel’s reach; killing him would hurt less. “Time’s up,” Michael says, and disappears in a flutter of wingbeats, leaving behind feathers in his wake.

Desperately, Castiel clings to the single feather that lands in his lap, and crushes it until the barbs begin to splinter, and only then, does Castiel break. Slowly, with the weight of the world bearing down on his shoulders and agony shredding his heart, Castiel lets out a long, suffering wail, and doesn’t stop after his voice breaks.

He screams until the crows stop listening, until the creatures living close to the shore turn a deaf ear. He screams until he spits blood, and holds the feather close.

Here, no one can hear him. Here, Castiel has lost his heart to love, and begs the sky to ease the ache, to make it hurt less.

Nothing comes. The feather burns warm in his hands; Castiel basks in it, and prays for another day. Another moment like this.

With him.

**Author's Note:**

> I forgot to write codas almost all season so I'll make up for it with PAIN. I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Some updates, I'm posting my DCRB on June 4th, and I just recently finished my DCBB, so that'll be ready for claims soon! :D
> 
> Title is from the Darius Rucker song.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/loversantiquity).


End file.
